


Hungry For Love

by Alexilulu



Series: Stealing Each Other's Hearts [5]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: F/M, Kosei Futaba AU, Love Confessions, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Trans!Haru, trans!Futaba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexilulu/pseuds/Alexilulu
Summary: Futaba can barely stand him sometimes, but there's just something about Yusuke that gets to her. But how do you tell someone who is so far into the clouds that he's basically in low orbit that you like him?





	1. Currying Favor

**Futaba:** Inari! come to LeBlanc quick, Sojiro made soooooooooo much curry and it's gonna go bad! Get here quick! 三(ﾉ；ﾟд｀)ﾉ  
**Yusuke:** I shall make haste. Do not allow him to waste a drop!  
**Futaba:** got it! (◕‿◕✿)

“Give it back, damn it!” Futaba rips her phone from Akira's hands as he finishes the last message. She scowls at her screen then looks over at him in confusion. “How are you so good at typing those freehand? Even I use an app, jeez. AND YOU'RE SO NICE TO HIM! I'm never nice with him, this is totally out of character…He's gonna figure it out and brush me off and I'm _going to die, Akira, I will DIE and you will watch me DIE on this spot and know it was your fault._ ”

  
Akira smirks, getting up from the booth they were sitting at inside LeBlanc and putting his apron back on. “You'll be fine. You wanted to do this, remember? Just crossing another thing off your list.” He walks back behind the counter and returns to tending to the all-important curry while Futaba groans and slides down in her seat until only her head is above the table.

* * *

She'd never planned on liking Yusuke as much as she found herself liking him. I mean, yeah, he's a slim bishōnen who seems distant and cool and unflappable, but then she got to know him for real as they hung out during their Thieves work and learned all his little weird foibles. A magazine subscription is decadent, but buying art books over food is normal, apparently! She saw him bring a salt shaker to add more to his water bottle during a trip to Mementos once. And what the hell was with wearing a hoodie _to the beach_ in the summer? _Then buying lobsters during said trip to the beach for ‘art’_? He can barely afford to ride the train if it weren't for his student pass, let alone eat food that isn't prepackaged condiments he swiped from the Big Bang Burger. Well, Futaba took care of the train fare problem for him (not that he’s noticed yet), but still. Who could fall for that mess?

  
_Who could, indeed?_

  
It's ridiculous, honestly. Futaba realized it one day when he complimented her on finally not wearing her headphones to school (the exact wording was that it really ‘showed off the lines of her slender neck and collarbones’) when they ate lunch together, and she threw a chunk of potato from her lunch at his face. He accepted it as a gift! A GIFT! She watched him eat it with the most delighted look on his face, handed him the rest of her lunch, then ran off. _Stupid._ It's just a stupid crush! Hormones she’d forgot she had, coming back into play now that she's in high school. Now her brain is like a warzone between logic trying to act normal and get through the day, and all her emotions running around wrecking up the place. There's fire and stuttering and accidental double entendres and so many more embarrassing things, and it sucks.

  
At first, she went to some of the other phantom thieves for help. Haru was _way_ too supportive, and seemed to think it very cute, so that was no help. Makoto stammered that she wasn't the best source for romantic advice, and Ann just looked incredibly distressed about the whole ‘liking Yusuke’ thing during their talk. And here she thought getting advice about boys from girls would be easy? Well, she’d never discuss any of this with Morgana or Ryuji, let alone Sojiro, leaving only… _Him._

* * *

 **Futaba:** Akira you gotta help me  
**Akira:** ?  
**Futaba:** no questions, just get over here! I feel stupid enough talking about this irl I'm not leaving a trail I gotta delete later  
**Akira:** k ᕕ| ͡■ ﹏ ■͡ |و  
**Futaba:** seriously?  
**Akira:** ─=≡Σᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ  
**Futaba:** oh my god dude

Futaba is psyching herself up in her computer chair as a knock comes to the door. “It's open!” The door opens, and she hears Akira step inside.

  
“…Futaba?”

  
“Just sit down, I gotta talk to you about something.”

  
“Futaba, I'm not talking to you through a towel. Here, let me just…Oh my god, really?” Futaba sighs. He must have taken the towel off. She can’t see through the other layers of defenses she’s piled up in preparation for this conversation to actually tell.

  
“Don't be so dramatic, it's just a mask!” Futaba flails with her hands towards where she thinks Akira is standing, but feels the mask come off her head.

  
“I'm amazed you can actually breathe under all that…” Akira strips down the rest of Futaba’s layered defense, leaving two towels, her weird mask, and a full-face surgical mask in a pile at his feet. “Okay. Now that I can see you, what's up?” Futaba sighs dramatically, covering her face with her hands.

  
“Ughhhhh, where do I even start. You remember when I felt all funny about you?” Akira nods, sitting down on the bed opposite her chair. “It's happening again. What do I dooooooooo?!”

  
“…Is it me again?”

  
“No! No no _no_! No more dumb crushes on you, I learned my lesson.”

  
“Well, apparently not, if it's happening again. Who is it, somebody at Kosei?”

  
“Technically…” She peeks out front behind her fingers to gauge Akira's response.

  
“Hmm. In your class? No, you probably stray older don't you, if past experience is an indicator…” Futaba throws a Featherman Red pillow she uses as a back cushion at him, catching him square in the face and bouncing off. He's still got a shit eating grin, despite that.

  
“Sh-shut up about you and me already, jeez!”

  
“Okay, okay. But with that response, I’m on the mark, so…” Akira gasps softly. “Is it…it can't be…” Futaba groans as Akira puts together the pieces and goes back to covering her blushing face again. “It's him. It's him, isn't it?” Futaba nods, leaving her hands in place, and feels Akira's arms suddenly enveloping her. “You sure know how to pick em, don't you.”

  
Futaba sighs, wrapping her arms around Akira's neck and pulling him tighter against her. “This sucks, dude. I can't tell if this or how I was before is worse…”

  
“It's okay. It gets better. Usually.”

  
“Usually?!” Futaba hits him with a fist on both shoulders, and he laughs, gently kissing the top of her head before releasing her and standing.

“Okay. So, how do you want this to play out? Do you wanna try to crack that nut?”

“Phrasing!”

“Don't dodge the question.”

“Ugh…I guess? Despite a hundred warning sirens in my head, I think I'll need to really try and do something about it this time or else it's just gonna keep happening.”

“Okay, great. Let's strategize.” He sits back down on the bed and produces a pen and paper from seemingly nowhere.

* * *

Futaba snaps upright when the door flies open and Yusuke bursts into the room, panting.

“Am I, am I too late? Oh, please do not let it be so…” Yusuke is leaning on his knees for support, trying and failing to catch his breath. Futaba starts getting to her feet to help him when Akira gestures for her to sit down with a firm shake of the head. He moves swiftly to dish up two plates of curry and get them placed on the table in front of Futaba during Yusuke’s recovery.

“Nah, you made it. Come over when you've got your breath back and dig in, we've got a ton left over from today.” Yusuke staggers to the table, dropping his bag at his feet and fall-slumping into the booth across from Futaba. Futaba is trying to control her breathing and failing. _Just remember what Akira went over with you. You know him! This should be easy! Just talk to him like you always do!_

* * *

Okay. Let's go over it from the top.” Akira sighs, rubbing his forehead and flipping a few pages back in his notes. Futaba is sitting on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap and a very furiously concentrating expression on her face.

“Right! We invite him over! Food is his greatest weakness so we offer some of Sojiro’s curry and get him in a vulnerable position.”

“Correct. This is a basic honey pot trap. Once he's here, I get him alone with you then close up the shop. What do you do then?”

“Besides panic?”

“No panicking, just stay calm and stick to the plan. Compliment him, the key is to seem sincere by choosing a feature that he won't think is a good feature. Namely…”

“Oh, shoot, uhh, his eyes?”

“No, too common, try again. Something that shows you know him well.”

“His…his stubbornness? His tenacity, it sounds better than stubbornness.”

“Too esoteric. Stick with physical, remember, something he wouldn't like.” Futaba throws her hands in the air.

“This is so hard! Why can't I just talk to him like a normal person?”

“Because he's not normal and it'll turn him off the line of thinking we’re trying to cultivate. You want to put him off balance.”

“Ugh. Okay, his slim, emaciated frame! That'll put him off balance.”

“…Okay, yeah, it would. So, he's off balance, so then you…” Akira gestures for Futaba to continue where he left off.

“I, I, I, I tell him that I like him? And then explode into confetti because I said the magic word of the day?”

“Good image, but no. Talk about something he would want to talk about, but something relating to you. He complimented your neck, so mention it and ask him to talk more about why he thinks your neck is angular or whatever he said.”

“Seriously? That's gonna do anything but make me feel conceited?”

“It gets him thinking about things he likes about you, which means he's thinking about you, which means…”

“He'll be more receptive to me asking him out. Shit, that's devious. I'm glad you aren't using your powers of seduction for evil, Akira.” Akira immediately looks away from Futaba, scratching his cheek.

“Well…anyway. From there, it's just bringing it home. Ask him if he likes you, and just go for it. Ask him and go from there. Everything after there is free-form so just be ready for anything.”

“Anything…Okay. I’ll do my best!”

* * *

Futaba stares down at her steaming plate of curry, hands in her lap. It turns out collecting your thoughts is incredibly hard when you’re a huge mess of emotions about the person sitting across the table from you who is currently on his second plate of curry and going strong. Akira gave her a quizzical look when he brought Yusuke said second helping, which is just compounding on her mess of thoughts she’s trying to organize.

 _This sucks! It’s happening, this is it, and I can’t even get a word out! Akira’s gotta be screaming in his head for me to just go for it, but I’m freezing up like a shitty port! Just say something, damn it!_ Futaba flinches when her phone buzzes on the table. She snatches it up and looks at the new notification.

 **Akira:** I’m gonna fake an errand, now or never kid \\\\\٩(✪ꀾ⍟༶)و///  
**Futaba:** What the hell are the slashes  
**Akira:** My power-up aura, im sending you all my energy for a true feelings of love bomb ＼＼\ ٩(๑❛ワ❛๑)و //／／

Futaba shoots Akira a glare, and he smiles and starts counting down from 3 on his fingers. At 0, his phone rings, and he walks away into the kitchen. Yusuke looks up at the sudden noise, seemingly snapping out of a food trance. Akira says his goodbyes over the phone and walks over to the seated pair.

“Hey, Sojiro is asking me to pick up some stuff for tomorrow’s opening, so I gotta step out for a bit. I’m gonna lock up so customers’ don’t get confused, but you’re free to stay as long as you want, Yusuke. There’s more curry back there on the burner keeping warm, and rice in the pot next to it.” Yusuke places a hand over his chest and closes his eyes, and Akira shoots Futaba a thumbs up and a grin.

“Akira, my sincerest thanks for allowing me this feast. Consider my debt further deepened between us, my friend.”

“No debt, it’s just food, dude. Besides, Futaba was the one who said we should invite you over.” Futaba’s eyes go wide when Yusuke finally turns to regard her, and the smile he gives her stops all her racing thoughts at once, leaving her totally blank.

“Then my thanks to you both. Your kindness shall not go unpaid, debt or no.”

“Well, worry about that once you get three meals a day. Anyway, I’m going. You guys just enjoy yourselves, alright?” Akira promptly heads for the front of the store, flipping the sign to closed and heading outside. The door latch locks from outside, and the sudden silence is deafening. Yusuke is still watching Futaba, his mostly finished second helping forgotten.

“…Do I have something on my face? What?” Futaba brushes at her cheeks with a hand, and Yusuke shakes his head.

“No, just admiring the lighting. The afternoon sun filtering through the blinds offsets your pale complexion well.”  _I…Was that a compliment? Is he trying to hit on me? C’mon, just follow the plan!_

“W-well, uhh…you sure can put away the food, huh, Inari? I’m amazed you stay as small as you do if you eat like that.”

“The key is to only allow yourself luxurious meals like this rarely. Most days, I subsist on salt water and wafers that are given out free in the school cafeteria. Asceticism is simply a fact of life I have grown accustomed to. ”

“Oh, right, you usually just watch me eat when we’re at lunch…”

“I never did have the opportunity to thank you for your gift the other day. I owe you greatly, as I fear I might have been uncouth towards you before that…” Yusuke picks his spoon back up and resumes his assault on the last of the curry on his plate.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t a big deal. Actually, I kind of…wanted to ask about that.” Futaba hesitantly takes up her spoon and finally starts eating the half-cooled curry in front of her. Even at room temperature, it’s heavenly. “What you meant by it, basically. I…kind of didn’t catch all of it.”

“Oh? Well, objectively speaking, your overall body type is very angular, but the curve where your shoulders meet your neck is quite shapely, nearly ideal, in fact. I’ve spent quite a bit of time in life drawing sessions in the past, and I’ve never quite seen anything like it outside of idealized sketches.” Yusuke says all of this very blithely between bites, setting his spoon down as he finishes. “Oh my, is the curry too spicy? You’re burning red.”  _HE JUST SAID ALL OF THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE? HOW DO YOU DO IT?! I CAN BARELY THINK OF A COMPLIMENT FOR YOU, CAME UP WITH THAT HALF-ASSED ‘YOU EAT GOOD’ THING AND HE JUST CALLS ME PERFECT WITHOUT ANY EFFORT? THIS ISN’T **FAIR!**_

Yusuke stands, taking his plate into the kitchen while Futaba has a breakdown, setting her spoon down and shaking her head. _He’s just got you rattled, Futaba, you have got to just go for it now! He’s thinking about you, this is the moment you’ve been looking for!_ Yusuke sits down again with a freshly piled up plate and a contented sigh.

“I might not have to eat for a day or two after this…What a blessing.”

As Yusuke is taking his first bite, Futaba speaks, her gaze fixed on her plate of curry.

“I like you.” Yusuke looks up from his meal, an eyebrow arched.

“Oh?”

“T-that’s your response? I just told you I like you and you say ‘oh’?”

“Forgive me, but this is a little unexpected. I didn’t think you even harbored any good feelings towards me, Futaba.”

“I invited you to free food! I’m…okay, I’m never nice to you, but…Look, this is weird for me too!” Yusuke nods, putting a hand on his chin.

“…Hmm. I suppose this does present quite a problem, then.” Futaba’s face falls. Oh no.

“W-what’s the problem?!”

“Well…My dormitory room doesn’t have much space, and the roommate assigned to me by the school is, shall we say, uncouth. I worry that you moving in with me might place a worrying strain on all three of us.”

“…You’re kidding me.”

“I’m afraid not. He gets quite irate if I use even the smallest part of the room that we have not delineated as my own.” Futaba covers her face with her hands.

“Inari, I am not moving in with you!” Yusuke’s eyes go wide.

“But is that not what those who confess their love for another typically do?”

“What? NO! You can date someone without living with them, you idiot! Where did you even get that idea?!”

“Well...It pains me to admit this, but my master often took mistresses and more often than not I only found out they were ‘together’ when they moved into the atelier. I fear I have very little experience in this matter…”

“Okay, that’s really sad. Uhh. Wait, you don’t have any problem with this? You and me?”

“I see no reason to deny you at this point, Futaba. Far be it for me to tell another how they feel.”

“What’s with that half-assed answer? Do you even like me?” Yusuke shrugs, taking up his spoon again. “Don’t just shrug at me, you moron!” Once he’s done swallowing, he answers.

“I have no real opinion on the matter yet. You were an effective member of the Phantom Thieves, and have likely saved my life on occasions too often to count. You have even gone out of your way to feed me on two occasions now, and I suspect have done other things to ease the strain I live under, given my living situation and circumstances.” He puts his spoon back down. “That said, I have little experience in matters of the heart, and cannot rightly say what the emotion I feel towards you is with any certainty. I suspect spending more time together would aid me greatly in identifying it properly.”

“He goes from half-assed to exhaustive…” Futaba shakes her head. “Okay, alright. So we’re doing this?”

“As I said, I see no reason to deny you.”

“God, you’re infuriating! Just say yes or no, damn it!” The jingle of the door opening interrupts their argument as Akira returns, bearing several bags of groceries in each hand.

“Am I interrupting something?” He drags his prizes into the kitchen and quickly starts putting things away loudly. Yusuke returns to his meal while Futaba looks from him to Akira and back in shock.

“I, uh…no. I guess.” She sighs, picking up her spoon once more. Akira walks over once he’s done putting away ingredients, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Hey, Yusuke, heads up, daylight’s running out.” Yusuke nods to Akira.

“I won’t remain much longer, I’ve imposed upon you two far too much as is.”

“Hey, none of that. You’re always welcome here, Sojiro said as much himself. Right?” Akira looks to Futaba, who sighs and nods.

“Yep. Always welcome.” Akira gives her a look as Yusuke stands.

“Regardless, I fear I have other matters to attend to before school tomorrow. Good night, Akira, Futaba.” He nods to Akira before stepping around him to get to Futaba’s side of the table, placing his hand gently on her head for a long moment before picking up his bag and leaving. Akira’s grin looks like it would extend off of his face out into the space alongside his head if it could.

“So, how did it go?”

“‘I see no reason to deny you’. What do you think?” Futaba’s voice is dark and sullen.

“…Well, it’s not a no.” Akira crosses his arms, staring at the door Yusuke just left through. Futaba slides her curry away from her and puts her head down on the table, covering the back of it with her hands. Akira sits down next to her, setting something down on the table next to her head. “Look, you knew this wasn’t gonna be easy. Don’t give up yet.”

“Mnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn…” Futaba doesn’t move, and Akira pats her on the shoulder. They stay like that for a few minutes, the only noise the faint news coverage on the TV behind them. Finally, Futaba sits up and sighs. “What the hell do I do now, though? He just walked off like nothing happened after that!”

“You have to prove to him that you’re serious about this. And doing it will make him realize how much he cares for you, too. Basically, you’re gonna shower him in affection and spend time with him more.”

“Ughhhhhh. Like what?”

“Well, since I was shopping for my cover, I took the liberty of picking up some props.” Akira produces a large bento box from a plastic bag at his feet, setting it on the table. “I already cook your lunches, I might as well just make extra and reach his heart through that gaping maw he calls a stomach.”

“Well...I guess that works.”

“That’s only the first part. You need to start hanging around him. Any time he’s not in class, you should try to visit. Don’t make a big deal about it, just find something to talk about or do together. Shared interests are a good way in, but silence is fine as long as you two are in the same room.”

“...Fine. Fine! I may have lost the battle, but I will win this stupid war with this sexy idiot!”

“There you go, got your second wind already.” Akira stands, picking up the plates and heading into the kitchen.

“Feels like I’m gonna need like 12 of those, at this rate…”


	2. Coffee Break

The first day after their meeting, Yusuke is back to normal. He’s waiting for her on the roof, sketching something in long, slow strokes across a small notepad. He hastily sticks it in his bag when he notices her standing over him, holding out a fully stocked bento box full of a savory lunch. He looks confused but accepts it gratefully. They eat together in uncharacteristic silence; their previous lunches were usually occupied by Futaba asking him questions about things he’s sketching while she eats, or what his teachers are like, or him making ludicrous comments about some feature of herself Futaba has always hated that he finds fascinating, or enchanting, or stunning, or some other adjective he attaches after a moment’s thought. She recounts her lunch with Akira every evening while she washes out Yusuke’s bento, or polishing rice, or dicing potatoes, or measuring out spices. He offers little bits of advice and tries to help Futaba tease out the tangled ball of emotions that make up her feelings towards Yusuke, to determine what it really is that appeals to her about him. ‘Knowing yourself is half the battle on the field of love’, Akira told her one night, and she groaned, but it’s getting clearer by the day that the things she admires about him are really buried deep in there. Luckily, she’s gotten passable enough at her knifework (it helps that when you cut vegetables for curry, you don’t really care about shape, just overall size) that she can spend a lot of the afternoon chewing on the problem mentally.

It’s frustrating, honestly. This total doofus, this ignoramus who is more worried about form than function, the guy who APPARENTLY still owns those lobsters he bought that summer SOMEHOW, is breaking her heart in half. She hates so many of his awful habits, like the way he loses focus on everything but his new hyperfixation of the day, or the hour, or the minute, having to repeat herself when he finally comes back to reality, then him grunting a response and going back to whatever the hell he’s doing. Frustrating! She texts him sometimes, usually to figure out where the hell he is, and he always responds way later, long after an answer would have been useful or helpful. Trying to get him to do stuff on their days off is impossible, despite Akira’s encouragement and help, because he keeps blowing her off and saying he was working on something important and lost track of time. She showed up at his dorm one day but his roommate had no idea where he was, and spent most of the 5 minutes she was there complaining to her about the lobster tank on his side of the room. Apparently the smell of the salt water is getting in his clothes, or something? They still eat lunch together, and she’s pretty sure he’s putting on weight now that he’s presumably eating more than one meal a day thanks to her intervention, but otherwise, they’re going nowhere fast.

Until she got a message from Haru.

* * *

“Hmm…that does seem quite a predicament…” Haru leans her chin on her hand, staring intently at Futaba across the countertop. They’re sitting in Leblanc with coffee in front of them both, Sojiro in the background polishing glasses with a cloth.

“Tell me about it. He wasn’t like this last week, I can’t tell if he was just being weird then, or if this is what he’s really like under all the pretentiousness and weirdo habits. Maybe he’s trying to push me away now…?”

“Mm, that doesn’t seem like Yu-chan.” She takes a sip of her coffee, nodding appreciatively to Sojiro, who tips an invisible hat to her in return. “And I don’t think he’s avoiding you out of any sincere attempt to hide. You may have known him longer than I, but he isn’t the kind of person to not wear his heart on his sleeve. He genuinely is working on something important…” Haru fidgets in her seat, turning a packet of sugar over in her hands.

“What the hell is so important that you ignore the girl trying to hit on you…” She suddenly snaps her gaze up from her cup to Haru. “Wait, do you know what he’s working on?”

“Mmmmm…aybe?” Haru tries to look nonchalant as she takes another sip, but she steadfastly won’t meet Futaba’s eyes.

“C’mon, tell me what he’s doing! He’s so damn busy with this, can’t you make him less busy?!”

“N-no, our timetable is far too tight for that. I’m cutting corners as it is, I can’t lose the lynchpin of this project…but…”

“But…what?”

“Well, I do have a space on the project that needs filling, and it would speed things up…What do you know about making cameraphone filters?”

“…Seriously? Okay, you gotta tell me what the hell you’re doing with Yusuke that has _anything_ to do with a selfie app.” Haru looks over at Sojiro and nods towards the door, and he looks confused for a minute before realizing what she’s indicating and jogs over to the door, flipping the sign to closed. She nods her thanks to him, and starts digging through her bag, producing a metal file with an actual padlock built into the case. She fiddles with it for a moment before popping the latch and opening it, placing a single sheet of paper between her and Futaba.

“Meet the Phantom Burger.” The paper is an outline for a new promotion at Big Bang Burger, the centerpiece being a burger with a flat black bun, dripping with blood-red sauce and a slice of white cheese. When she speaks, Haru’s tone is a far cry from her typical chirpy, carefree voice, all business and profit margins and cost-benefit analysis. “Squid ink bun to give the proper black shade, a sriracha ketchup sauce, melty white cheese, and two char-broiled beef patties. Only 500 yen in the afternoon, 700 otherwise. Comes with fries and a drink all day. Our sales pitch is, ‘It’ll steal your heart’.”

“…Holy shit, Haru.” Futaba picks up the paper, squinting at some of the text below the header image of the perfect-looking burger. Most of it is business marketing gobbledygook that Futaba can only vaguely understand, but she picks up several key phrases. “Social media marketing tie-in campaign?”

“If they link their Snapchat account to a code on the burger bun, they get access to a random Phantom Thief mask overlay. Multiples upgrade the special effects around it, like…like those characters you showed me on your phone, their outfit loses clothes but also gets more ornate?”

“Ohh, like ascending your Servants…Huh.”

“Right! People will be posting their selfies with the Phantom Thieves masks, since our costumes are public knowledge after our calling card for Shido aired, they’ll eat it up!” Futaba keeps reading, then stops again.

“…Why does it say paid actors in here?”

“Well, we want to have promotional events, so I’ve hired a troupe of acrobats to act as the Phantom Thieves at events! But they have to be dressed as them, and…”

“…” Futaba squints at Haru over the page.

“Yusuke is doing the costume design. He’s so good at it, he remembers every detail of our outfits like he just saw it!”

“Ugh! He’s always drawing at lunch, I thought it was just schoolwork, but he’s doing all this for you! This isn’t fair, damn it!” Futaba drops the paper, groaning. “Why is this, admittedly really really cool, thing more important to him than me!” Haru takes the paper back, frowning.

“I’m sorry, Futaba. I asked him to start on this awhile ago, but our timetable got shortened by the board, so I’ve asked him to do his best, and…I think he took me a little too literally.”

“That idiot…” Haru finishes putting the case back in her bag, and picks up her cup in both hands, holding it just in front of her face.

“But, this is your chance, isn’t it? He’s mostly done with the costume design documents, the last thing he needs to work on is the Snapchat assets, and I just so happen to need a coder who can get a lot done in very little time…” She finishes off the last of her coffee, setting the cup back down and smiling at Futaba’s dumbfounded look. “Do you want the job?”

“…Fuck it! Let’s go!” Futaba throws her hands in the air.

“Language, young lady!” Sojiro finally pipes up as he flips the sign back to open.

“Sorry!” Haru laughs, and Futaba groans. “When do I start?”

“Well, Yusuke is at my place right now, so we could go now…” Futaba snatches up her coffee, chugs the entire cup in one go, and leaps to her feet.

“What the hell are we doing still here, then?! Let’s go!”

“What did I just say about language, Futaba?!”

* * *

Once they arrive, Futaba sets up in the unbelievably spacious sitting room with her laptop and a thumb drive Haru entrusts her with, and immediately sets about familiarizing herself with the project. It’s surprisingly well organized for not having a professional coder, but it’s also not a ton to work with…

“Futaba?”

She immediately sets about patching holes in the design documents and making a list of questions for Haru the next time she sees her.

“…I shall wait, then.”

How many upgrades are they planning for the masks? How long is the filter supposed to be available? How high resolution do you want the masks to be, and how are they going to get them in a high enough DPI if Yusuke primarily works in physical media? What is the actual deadline they’re working under, because none of these project documents list it? What’s our budget for assets and code time, can she hire some online friends to beta some ideas she’s got for rendering stuff? Okay, time to start testing rendering algorithms. Her hands fly across her keyboard, testing and discarding new methods as quickly as they’ll render, using her laptop camera and her Medjed logo as a placeholder. Futaba is dimly aware of someone in the room with her, but she’s working too quickly to pay them any mind. She starts making faces at the camera in the corner of her screen as she tries to optimize resolutions, and finally stops when the timer she set on her desktop goes off. Had it really been an hour already? She sets her laptop down next to her, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. Right about then is when she realizes Yusuke is sitting across from her in a cushy armchair, sketching something on a wide pad propped up in his lap with one knee.

“Wh-“ Yusuke looks up from his work, blinking.

“Oh, you’re done.” He turns the sketchpad around for her, showing a lovingly detailed pencil sketch of her sticking her tongue out at the laptop in her lap. Instantly, a flush rises to her entire face.

“How long were you watching me?!” Yusuke pulls out his phone from his pocket to check.

“45 minutes, maybe 50? You were so intent on your work, I didn’t feel it right to interrupt.” Her shoulders slump.

“Great. Well, I hope you had fun sketching me.”

“As always, you are a very striking model, Futaba.” He turns back a few pages, and shows her a similar sketch of them on the rooftop, her with a chunk of beef halfway to her lips. Another page turns, and there she is, leaning against the roof’s fence and staring off into a moody grey sky. “How was the…” He gestures towards the laptop expansively. “Computer thing?”

“The…computer thing?” She shakes her head to clear fog that descended as she realized how much of his sketchbook was devoted to portraits of her. Wait, had he been sketching her at lunch, not that design stuff Haru’s got him working on? “Oh, the coding. It’s fine. I think I’ve got a good thing going for the rendering, so we just have to get some art assets and start prototyping.”

“Thrilling. You look tired, would you like some tea? Haru’s staff is quite good at brewing a strong green, I’ve found.”

“…Staff?” She looks up and around the room while Yusuke dials a number on his phone, speaking briefly to someone on the other line to bring some tea. Not even 30 seconds later, a maid in black pants and a crisp white blouse arrives bearing a tray with two teacups and a carafe full of steaming green tea. She sets it down on the table between them, nods to Yusuke, and discreetly steps away. Futaba gapes at her back. “Haru has _servants?_ ”

“Just a few, most of them left in the aftermath of her father’s passing. A shame, but she doesn’t need much help, living alone. They mostly just prepare food and handle upkeep of the house for her, from what I understand.” He pours some tea into his cup and takes a sip, nodding appreciatively.

“Wow. I guess she is the heiress to a burger empire, but jeez…” She does likewise, burning her tongue a little on the tea but doing her best to hide it from Yusuke.

“I’ll confess that I felt much the same way the first time I came here, but it’s simply the way of things.”

“Hey, so, you’ve been working on this for awhile, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, what’s the pay like? I’m thinking I might see if some guys I know can keep a secret can do some work on the rendering stuff, just say it’s freelance work for the app company.”

“I don’t know what Haru has promised you, so I will not speak for her, but I am not taking payment.” Futaba sputters as she takes another drink, nearly spilling her cup down her front.

“Not taking pay? What the hell, you’re broke! Yusuke, you know you need money to live, right?”

“…I simply do not feel comfortable accepting payment for work that is done for a friend.”

“Inari, you freaking…You’re so dumb! Do you know how much money they’re spending on this advertising, and you’re the centerpiece of all that work, you should be making _all_ the money!” Yusuke crosses his arms.

“Futaba, this work is giving me things besides money. I’m not going to argue with you about compensation, because I feel I’ve been duly compensated already.” Futaba just about pitches her teacup at him, but thinks better of it and just groans angrily.

“Ugh, fine! Don’t get paid, and let your lobsters die because you can’t feed them!”

“I would never let Foamy and Frothy die…I can survive longer without food than them, so I would simply tough it out.”

“…Wait. You named them Foamy and Frothy?” Futaba makes a face.

“Well, that’s for short, my roommate took it quite poorly when I referred to them with their full names, which are ‘As the sea foam sprays/seabirds cry out on the breeze/and the sun sits high’, and ‘in the frothing sea/a red crustacean rises up/to swallow Japan.’” Futaba winces.

“Holy shit, Yusuke. Haiku names?”

“It’s not an art form I profess any familiarity with, but I wished to try my hand at it nevertheless.” Futaba shakes her head, yawning again.

“Okay, fine, I’m not pushing you on the money thing, whatever. That haiku is just weird, though. Is Frothy a kaiju, or something?”

“He’s larger than Foamy, it felt appropriate. And I’ve never seen a Godzilla movie with a lobster kaiju, so I wanted to give him something to aspire to.”

“Well, I guess you could go with Ebirah? He’s a shrimp kaiju, but it’s close…”

“It’s just not the same.” Yusuke shakes his head. “In any case, let’s not worry about Frothy’s dreams. …What were we doing?” Futaba yawns again, leaning into the arm of the couch.

“I dunno. I’m really sleepy, I thought the green tea would help.”

“That’s unfortunate. We do have plenty of daylight today, though. Perhaps a nap would set you right?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Yusuke stands up, leaving his pad in the chair he was sitting in and stepping around the table. “W-what are you doing?” He picks up the laptop next to Futaba, setting it on the table and sitting in it’s place.

“Giving you something to rest your head against. You wanted to nap, yes? This is what people who are in a relationship do, I’ve been led to believe.”

“Mmmh…I guess.” She sits up from her position sprawled out across the arm of the chair, eyeing his side. “…How do we do this.”

“I have no idea.”

“Great. Wikihow, don’t fail me now.” She grabs her phone off the table, and starts flipping through webpages. “Okay, how to cuddle your…hmm. Okay. Alright, this diagram sucks, so Google it is. Cuddling stock photos, you’re my last chance…! Okay, I think I get it. So,” She picks up the arm closest to her and lifts it over her head and behind her, while Yusuke watches intently, somewhere between attentive and amused. “That goes there, then,” She scoots over next to him until their thighs are touching, and leans into his side. “Now put your arm around my shoulders, and we’re good, I think?” She scoots up for a second to tuck her legs under her on the couch, and settles in. “Man, you’re bony. How much do you weigh, like 30 kilos?”

“I have no idea, there’s no scale in my dormitory.” He shifts uncomfortably as her shoulder digs into his ribs. “I should ask you the same question. You’re like a pile of sharp sticks in my side.”

“What the hell, Inari, you never ask a lady her weight! Jeez, what an idiot…” She does helpfully remove her shoulder from it’s resting spot and leans her back into the gap made by his arm around her shoulder. “There. Better?”

“Yes.”

“Great, now what?”

“We sit here, you nap, I…find something to occupy my time with.”

“Sounds boring. Have fun, I guess.” She takes off her glasses and sets them in her lap, yawning. “Wake me up in an hour or two, alright?”

“No need to worry.” After that, Futaba falls silent, the only sound between the two of them their breathing. After he’s sure she’s asleep, Inari slips his phone back out of his pocket and takes a photo of them together. He sighs to himself, closing his eyes. A few minutes later, his head droops forward, a soft snore issuing from his mouth every so often. Some time later, Haru steps in to check in on them, but can’t help but smile when she finds them both snoring softly. She picks up the teaset with care and silently exits the room.


	3. Starved (for Affection)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The project behind them, Futaba thinks about the future while Yusuke thinks about the past.

**Yusuke:** Akira.

**Akira:** Yusuke.  （￢з￢）σ

**Yusuke:** Futaba is not on the roof for lunch.

**Akira:** ? She left this morning in uniform, I saw her

**Yusuke:** That is what I suspected. Thank you, Akira.

**Akira:** NP dude  (・ω・)b

 

**Yusuke:** Futaba?

**Yusuke:** You didn’t come to school, I asked Akira and he said you left, but your classmates said you never came to school today.

**Yusuke:** Where are you?

**Yusuke:** Futaba?

 

Futaba groans to herself as Haru busies herself pouring tea for the two of them. There’s 30 more messages like it vibrating away in her bag at her feet, and she knows they’re all from Yusuke, but she can’t deal with him right now. Besides, this is all for him, anyway. 

“So.” Haru sets a cup of steaming hot black tea in front of Futaba and sits down, holding a similar cup in her lap. She’s dressed to the nines in her business attire, a smart black skirt ending just above the knee matching a pale white blouse with a fresh flower on the lapel. “You wanted to talk to me about the project?” Futaba picks up her cup, fidgeting with it as she collects her thoughts.

“Yeah. We’re basically ready to deliver, but I wanted to talk to you about the terms of the contract. Yusuke’s contract. He said something about not taking pay?” Haru takes a sip of her tea, nodding. 

“Yes, he’s currently refusing payment. I tried to talk him into it, but he was very adamant. I worry about him so, with his...eccentricity with money, but…” She shakes her head, and Futaba takes the time to drink her tea, scalding her tongue and putting it back down. 

“Tell me about it. I re-magnetized his train card so it thinks he’s got an all-access pass to get to Leblanc or his dorm free. I don’t think he’s noticed yet.” She pauses, frowning. “That sounded like bragging but I didn’t mean for it to, I swear. Uh, going back, though, he said he was being compensated in other ways?”

“Oh, he probably means the costume.” Haru picks up her phone from the table and presses something. “Rei, can you bring me Yusuke and Futaba’s costumes?” A chill runs up Futaba’s spine.

“Wait, costumes? Like, the ones for the actors?”

“Yes! I...well...I missed my thief outfit, to be honest. So when I had the idea for this, and the promotional actors, I had them make a second set for all of us. I did my best with the measurements based on height and some estimation, but I have a tailor retained to modify them as we need.”

“You know, Haru, you sound like an evil genius sometimes when you start talking about all this logistics and planning stuff or anything about running the company. Are you sure you aren’t just setting up to have a team of actors steal the prime minister’s heart or something?” Haru laughs, sitting back in her chair as her maid Rei arrives bearing two black metal suitcases with their calling card logo painted on both sides. She sets both of them down on the table on each side of the teakettle, one marked ORACLE in block text and the other FOX.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. In any case, his only payment is his Fox costume.”

“Nnh, can’t you do  _ something _ ? Stuff the bills in his suit, write a check and tape it in the mask or something?”

“I would, but I know he would return it, or worse, simply throw it away.”

“Man, that freaking blockhead moron idiot…” Futaba chews on her thumbnail, staring down at the table. “How about this? I’ll open bitcoin wallet for him, and we launder the money through there and then it’s given to him over the course of a few weeks.”

“If you want to go that far, I can simply open a trust naming him the beneficiary that sends him money every month until it’s paid out. I wonder if he would accept it if it said it was coming from Madarame-san, or perhaps his mother…”

“Okay, yeah, the less darknets involved the better. I guess you’ll take care of that, then?” Haru nods, and Futaba breathes a sigh of relief. “Great. I was worried I was gonna have him show up on my doorstep asking to move in because he couldn’t afford the dorm anymore or something.”

“Would that really be that much of a problem?” Haru smirked, tenting her fingers in front of her face.

“Of course it would! We’re like 2 weeks into him even thinking of me as having a romance route, we can’t move that fast, it violates all the rules for this kind of thing!” Haru giggles, and Futaba only grows more flustered. “Besides, I only have a single bed, and no way in hell am I letting that paint-smeared simpleton ruin my sheets yet! He’s got a lot of house training ahead of him before I so much as touch him.”

“Is that why you two fell asleep cuddled together on my couch?”

“Damn it, it was just the once, okay?!”

“That wasn’t a recrimination, Futaba, calm down.” Futaba hates how delighted she looks after getting her so worked up.

“Haru, how the hell do you do this stuff?”

“Which stuff, if I might ask?”

“Well...You know…” Futaba rubs her nose. “We all know, you told us as much and we saw what happened in your dad’s Palace, but...You weren’t there for my Palace, so maybe you don’t know about what I did when I was locked up in my room for 2 years after mom died.” Haru’s eyebrows quirk, then shoot up. She sits up in her seat and before Futaba has time to think about the fact that she just came out to someone for real for the first time, Haru is sitting next to her.

“Oh. Oh, Futaba! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! Oh, god, I wish you’d told me sooner, I...well. It was your choice to say anything, as it was mine, so don’t worry about it. But...What do you mean, this stuff?” 

“This...dating, stuff. I know you and Akira have hooked up, and probably Ann too then, is it just easier if they know? Akira knows, and Sojiro knows, but nobody else. Especially not Yusuke. But…” Futaba wipes her eye with her free hand, Haru having occupied her other with both of hers. “God, it’s so stupid, but he’s got like, fifty sketches of me in his notepad, and they’re all beautiful, and half the time I catch him staring at me and he compliments some feature I hate as if it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. And yeah, he’s an artist, they probably do that, but it’s...God. This is stupid. He’s probably just being nice and practicing on me because I’m the only person he talks to at Kosei and lets him anymore.”

“Futaba.” Haru squeezes her hand and holds it tightly. “Yusuke has never in his life said or did anything he did not mean utterly. Why else would he turn down such a large sum of money, except that he totally believed that he could not accept it?” Haru brushes a lock of Futaba’s hair out of her face before continuing. “That boy is utterly, stupidly in love with you. He might not understand what his heart is telling him yet, but the way he acts around you tells me all I need to know. That said...I can’t tell you that you  _ have _ to tell him. That’s not my place, and I love you dearly, Futaba, but I can’t make your choices for you. All I can say is that you need to think about it. I think you two are both very good together, despite some of your more theatrical fights, and that this will be no different.” Futaba has been silently crying through most of that, her gaze fixed on Haru’s hand on her own. After that, she lays her head on Haru’s shoulder, and the older girl hugs her for a long time.

* * *

Yusuke does not see Futaba the next day. He knows she came home (thanks to discreet questions placed by Akira on his behalf) but she does not meet him at the station as had become their custom while working on the app together. Nor does she appear bearing two bentos for lunch on the rooftop at the lunch bell. She does not chatter with him about whatever has struck her fancy this time, nor does she sit still for him to sketch, staring off into space as she thinks about an idea she had for a Featherman episode she wants to send to the TV network, or the simple look of joy she shows when she eats a boiled egg in two bites.

Something is off, he decides. He feels out of sorts, thrown off balance. He had survived before Futaba perfectly well, but why does hunger gnaw at his stomach as it does now? He’s been eating regularly and on a schedule essentially set by Futaba; he doesn’t eat breakfast unless she buys him something in the morning at the station, his lunches are catered by her, and the last 2 weeks they had been working exclusively out of Leblanc and ending up with a heaping plate of curry at the end of the night to reward their efforts. He placates his stomach with some bread from the school store (much to his chagrin, looking at his nearly empty coin wallet) and goes back to the roof to practice landscapes.

Sitting there in the sun, he idly starts sketching, the edges of clouds looping at the top and the faint silhouette of the sun behind them. Where could she be going, if she is still going out? Is she in trouble, somehow? Bullying is a not inconsiderable fear in high school life…But somehow he doubts that she is, she wouldn’t stay quiet about that sort of thing, and they had spent the last 2 weeks either in each other’s company, in class, or asleep. Sometimes together, sitting on the same side of a booth, Futaba leaning on his arm and asking for a 5 minute break while he tries to let his wrist rest, and then 5 minutes morphed into 30, and now Sakura-san is setting food in front of them because they’re closed and he doesn’t have to worry about customers. But that’s not the point, is it? He was supposed to be thinking about why she’s acting so strangely.

He tried to reach out again this morning, but no response. She’s usually so quick to get back, and Akira did not confirm that she had her phone. Is it possible she lost it and is trying to find it before Sakura-san finds out? Seems unlikely, she would enlist their help if it were something that trivial. No, this is between him and her, in all likelihood. They had spent so much time together, it must have been something he did or said. But, if that were true, she usually simply tells him how wrong he is and berates him about it until he apologizes or changes his mind. Is it...anything at all?

He sighs, looking down at his sketchpad. He made one particularly short building he can see the rooftop of from here the focus of the, but...

He drew Futaba standing on the building, looking up at the viewer.

Damn it.

She contacts him 2 days after that.

 

**Futaba:** Come by the house when you’re out of school. 

**Yusuke:** Are you okay?

**Futaba:** Don’t worry about me, idiot

**Yusuke:** I’m leaving school now, I’ll be there as soon as I am able

**Futaba:** Don’t just skip class for me, you dunce!

* * *

Yusuke comes to a stumbling halt at the gate to the Sakura residence, having ran from the station to here. He knows his haste has no place here, that him leaving school in the manner he did was foolish, but does it really matter? Once he’s past the gate, he takes some time to attempt to compose himself in the yard, only for Futaba to open the door, staring at him panting and trying to fix his hair.

“I could hear you coming down the street, dude. Get in here.” So much for that plan. Yusuke steps inside and Futaba closes the door and walks towards her room, Yusuke following shortly after her. She sits down at her chair in the darkened room and spins it around to face the bed, and Yusuke sits on it, dropping his bag between his knees. “So.”

“Have you been well?” Futaba pulls her knees up to her chest and leans back against the chair.

“I guess. Mostly? I don’t know.”

“Well, as long as you’re mostly okay, I suppose everything is fine then.” Futaba gives him a grin but it falters when he continues. “I have something I wanted to tell you that I’ve been thinking about, but your disappearance left me more worried about your safety than anything else.”

“Oh. Right. You remember after you guys beat up my Palace and I had to hack the world or whatever? It was kinda like that. Sorta.”

“Hmm. In any case, everything worked out. So, should I tell you what I wanted to tell you, or do you want to go first?”

“Ughhh, you go. I’m all nervous now because you said you were thinking and that never ends well.” He doesn’t rise to the bait, instead clearing his throat.

“...I missed you.” Futaba doesn’t move, staring at him over her knees. “The first day you were gone, I felt as if...I was missing my drawing arm. A ridiculous comparison, as I have never lost a limb, but it feels right. Something essential to my conception of myself was gone. I was adrift. But...I am a stupid, simple man. I thought that because I had lived as I had for so long, that I must be unloveable, to end up in the clutches of someone as monstrous as Madarame. The idea that someone could feel something for me that did not have a root in their pity for me or some sort of manipulation is one I am still learning, it seems.” He pauses to swallow and take a breath. Futaba doesn’t move. 

“All of this is to say that I have greatly enjoyed our newfound companionship. Time I spend with you is immeasurably better of a time than time spent pitying myself in my dorm or making sketches I scrap an hour after starting. I...I said that I would tell you when I have identified the feeling I feel towards you. And it is undoubtedly love.” Futaba closes her eyes, bowing her head towards her knees, and Yusuke can see in the light of her computer monitor that she is crying. He stands, stooping low onto one knee to embrace her, his arms easily wrapping around her balled up in the chair. They remain like this until Futaba finally runs out of tears, hiccuping. Yusuke pulls back, remaining in his hunched position. “I believe you had something you wanted to tell me, yes? Do you still want to?” Futaba scoffs, wiping her eyes with her sleeves and cleaning her glasses.

“...Yeah, I gotta do this or it’ll eat me up. Do you remember my Palace? How I was locked up in here for 2 years and didn’t leave? That’s basically true, but I wasn’t just doing nothing in here. I...god, how do I even explain this.”

“Take your time, as Akira would say.”

“Thanks. I…” She sighs again, groaning. “Before mom died, I was a boy. I had already started transitioning before she died, but...after that, I couldn’t go outside anymore. So I’ve been self-medicating with stuff i bought online and the occasional written conversation with Sojiro’s doctor down the street, Takemi or whatever. There. I said it. I’m not...I’m not the kind of girl you were probably looking for.” She’s deliberately not meeting his eyes, staring away from him into some corner of the room.

“Futaba.” Yusuke shifts his stance onto both knees, joints popping. Her eyes flick over at him, then back away. “Futaba, look at me.”

“Why, so you can see my heart break when you tell me to go to hell?”

“Futaba. Please.” He sits there, hands in his lap in front of her, until she looks at him and her gaze remains. “Futaba. I meant what I said earlier. The person I argue with is you, the you that is here right now, not you 3 years ago, a person who you are not anymore and never will be. The person I sketch is right here, right now. The Futaba I find endlessly fascinating is the one sitting in a chair, curled up in a ball and staring at me. The Futaba who has probably saved my life in ways I cannot fathom let alone count, is with me alone in this room. You are not who you were once, just as I am not the Yusuke who tried to cover up his own exploitation and abuse by my caretaker simply because he didn’t understand any other life. And this Yusuke loves this Futaba.” He stands and moves back to the bed, sitting down. “And I’m not leaving you. Not ever.” Futaba stares at him from her seat, eyes brimming with tears again. She snaps, leaping to her feet and shoving Yusuke as hard as she can, rocking him back but not sprawled out onto the bed like she intended.

“You freaking nerd! Idiot! Stupid Inari keeps saying shit that makes me cry, god damn it!” She punches him on the shoulder, and he sways back a little but doesn’t react. “Freakin’, do you know how much it drove me nuts thinking about how this would go for like 3 days and you just walk in here and go ‘I LOVE YOU’?! Never in my life did I think you’d actually get a feeling out of that stupid heart of yours and up to your mouth to actually  _ say _ it! You bastard, I wasted 3 days of my life being scared out of my mind and you coulda just said it in one of your TWO HUNDRED TEXTS YOU SENT ME, THE NOTIFICATION NUMBER ON MY PHONE SAID 205 AND THEY WERE ALL YOU, GOD DAMN IT!” She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes, barely swaying him. Now he’s smiling, god damn it, she thinks to herself. “Oh, is this funny, Inari? My emotional distress because I read all 205 of them and you were so desperate to talk to me but you couldn’t tell me you loved me?!” 

“It didn’t feel like something I could simply mention in a text I wasn’t even sure you would see! Besides, we as a culture place too much importance on text conversations when face to face has so much more going for it.”

“Too much importance! Yusuke, you idiot, I’m a former shut-in, do you know how hard it is for me to talk to somebody and look them in the eye?! If you want to talk to me, freaking text me, I read all of them, I would have replied, but instead you were being all ‘i’m Inari and I will keep asking the same question rephrased and asking someone to reply without mentioning the  _ pressing information i want to share with them _ ! Damn it!” She sits down next to him, panting both from her shouting and the exertion of trying to move such a large boy.

“...I apologize. I should have said something, but Akira assured me you were home but he didn’t know more, and I was too stubborn to change tactics.”

“Whatever, it’s done. Just...jeez, Yusuke. This is so weird. I figured I would be going back to being Medjed after this, save up some bitcoin and go live on a farm somewhere in China where they keep all the mining servers after this.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t try to do it before talking to me, so thank you. And thank you for reading my 205 messages.” He leans over and brushes his lips into a kiss on her red hair, smiling when he pulls back and finds her staring at him, jaw working and blush rising to her cheeks.

“You...you’re just lucky I wasted all my adrenaline trying to kick your ass just now, Inari. Next time, you’re mine.” Yusuke stands, making a show of dusting himself off from her assault and picking up his bag.

“Indeed I am, that you care enough to try to assault me. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” She shoos him off. “Don’t get arrested for skipping school or something, or you won’t be there tomorrow when I finally come back.”

“Quite. Good night, Futaba.” Yusuke stares at her for a moment longer, considering if he could get away with attempting to kiss her, but given her reaction to the head peck, it might not go well. And with that, he exits, closing the door behind him and disappearing into the fading afternoon. Futaba groans, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands. 

“Freaking hell, why does him being so stupid  _ work on me so well?! _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And well, that's it y'all! I wanted to keep this short but sweet so there you have it. I hope you enjoyed these two young, dumb idiots and their problems!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think i'd be back here for awhile, but here I am again? Gotta keep something going in this ship tag, god damn it!
> 
> There will probably be a chapter 5 of some snippets of stuff i've thought about involving these two, so keep your eyes peeled for that...i'm hoping to finish that by christmas, but I'm starting a new job, so we'll see how that goes.

The crash of thunder outside makes Yusuke flinch in his seat in the dim light of Leblanc. With the rolling thunderstorm outside, the moody lighting brings more to mind a power outage than the intended effect, instead shadowing much of Sojiro's face across from him in the booth and removing the rest of the restaurant from view. The call wasn't urgent, but Yusuke had the sense to tell that not answering a summons from Futaba's father promptly would be a black mark deeper than most others. And so he came despite the storm, and Sojiro fixed two cups of coffee then locked the front door. They haven't exchanged a word since, drinking their coffee in near-total darkness and silence.

  
Sojiro seems to be matching his pace of slow sips every few minutes. Measuring? Thinking, perhaps. Mulling his options, certainly.

  
"Thanks for coming, kid." Sojiro breaks the silence abruptly, as Yusuke was drinking. He swallows the coffee, nodding in agreement. The darkness makes it harder for Yusuke to tell, but he seems like he's smirking. "Look. I'm not gonna tell you two 'no, you can't date', okay? You can relax."

  
"But I'm the only one here." Yusuke replied quizzically. Is Futaba actually here, and I hadn't noticed her fluorescent orange hair in the darkness?

  
"I meant-" Sojiro sighs. "Nevermind. Anyway. I wanted to talk to you. I know you know Futaba pretty well, but hell, I practically helped raised the girl, even when Wakaba was still around. So I wanted to talk to you about some stuff you should know about her. Likes, dislikes, favorite food."

  
"It's curry, isn't it?" I had thought that much was obvious, given it was the only dish she ever ate that didn't have to be heated in a microwave before eating.

  
"I, well. Sort of. I don't think she has any real preference, as far as dishes go, actually. Before I started making that curry, she'd eat anything I put in front of her with a big goofy grin. Granted, this was years ago, but I don't think much has changed since then." He shifts in the shadows, scratching his chin. "Anyway. She likes stuff somebody cooked for her, not specific dishes. The curry, though, she loves especially, I guess. Since Wakaba helped me perfect it, probably."

  
"I see. And you wanted to tell me this because…"

  
"Well. If you're gonna date the girl, you might as well be able to make her favorite food. So, this is an offer, I guess. I'll teach you how to make my curry. Our curry. If you want to, of course." Another crash of thunder doesn't faze him this time. Instead, Yusuke crosses his arms, looking down at the dregs of his coffee and closing his eyes in thought.

  
I do want to make Futaba happy, of course. Ever since that night when they confessed, things have been back to normal between them, somehow. He's even come over to sketch in her room alone while she does whatever she does on the computer that causes such a racket while he’s trying to practice capturing the clutter and mess as accurately as he can. Spend enough time together alone and Sojiro was sure to notice--This sort of offer was likely inevitable, given such an extended period of closeness. It's not as if Sojiro has any ulterior motives, either. He's only ever wanted what was best for Futaba, or Akira, or any of them. A genuinely kind man, despite the gruff and at times snide demeanor he puts on.

  
And I had always wondered what exactly went into their curry. Having had it before in the cafe, or when Akira brought some to Mementos to keep their strength up, he felt he had a decent handle on what could go into it to make it as flavorful as it was, but confirming it would be an interesting opportunity, as would learning the recipe itself. And with the newfound cashflow from Haru’s commission, I could afford to splurge on potatoes and a high-quality curry spice. Yusuke opens his eyes, nodding once to Sojiro.

  
"Very well. I'll accept, Sakura-san."

  
"Hey, just call me Sojiro, you don’t have to be formal. If you're gonna be around Futaba as much as you have been, I don't wanna hear Sakura-san all the time. Makes my old bones feel like they’re gonna turn to dust any minute." Sojiro stands, picking up the empty coffee cups and stretching. "Come by tomorrow after class with Futaba, I'll get Akira to run her off somewhere and we can get some practice in that night."

* * *

The plan failed before it even began.

  
“Where’s Akira?” Sojiro squints at his daughter when she comes walking into the empty cafe with Yusuke in tow. “I thought you two were going to Akiba today.”

  
Futaba cackles. “Oh, no, he had something come up.” Yusuke rolls his eyes when she waggles her eyebrows as she finishes. “So, what’s going on that I wasn’t supposed to be here?” Sojiro gives Yusuke a meaningful look, which draws Futaba’s attention back to him. “Oh, am I interrupting Boy Time or something?”

  
“You could always leave if you feel you’re unwanted.” Yusuke sets his bag down in a booth, adjusting his collar and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Futaba cackles, sitting down at the bar and dropping her bag at her feet.

  
“Oh please, like you’d throw me out.” Her eyes dart over to Sojiro, and she continues with a little less bravado. “Right?”

  
“Hey, nobody’s throwing anybody out, and I’m not locking the door this early in the afternoon. You’re liable to eat me out of house and home even if I keep the door open till midnight, young lady.” He sets down the glass he was polishing, wiping his hands on his apron. “We’re making curry.”

  
“You always make curry. That’s what I love about you, Sojiro.” She snickers when his response is a roll of the eyes.

  
“I’m teaching Yusuke to make my curry.” Sojiro walks back to the fridge to retrieve ingredients while Yusuke walks behind the bar and gets a look at the kitchen.

  
“…Oh, wow. Alright. Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll taste test!”

  
“It was supposed to be a surprise, but we didn’t plan for you bribing Akira.” Yusuke mutters pointedly as he struggles with tying his apron strings, eventually resorting to pulling them around to the front and tying it shut there. Futaba lounges on the bar, propping up her grinning face with one hand.

  
“HEY, I didn’t bribe him! I just suggested that maybe he should be busy after class, or somebody might get some text messages they would find very enlightening.”

  
“Okay, okay, enough. I’ve got to teach the boy, and you two going back and forth about blackmailing your stepbrother isn’t good dinner conversation. Try and keep it light, okay?” Sojiro returns with an armful of ingredients, laying them out in front of him.

* * *

The actual teaching and preparation goes fine; Yusuke stays focused despite Futaba monkeying around and eventually moving to a booth in the back with her laptop while Sojiro takes him through the steps for their recipe. It’s dizzying, at first—the number of minor steps that require precise timing would boggle a master chef—but Yusuke does his best to hang on. So many years of listless direction by his teachers and his former master—oh, whatever you show me will do, Kitagawa-kun—that simply following a recipe feels undeniably freeing.

  
Before money became such an issue, before Madarame’s demands on his time and energy became more and more intensive and invasive, Yusuke considered cooking his meditation time; even simply scrambling an egg into rice gave him a moment to breathe and think about something that wasn’t a composition, color theory or a dozen other topics that typically occupy him. Everything distills down to simple, clear instructions. Break egg into bowl, stir until well mixed, pour over rice, move around the skillet until semi-hard, remove, let finish, soy sauce, eat.

  
“Okay, now stir in the rest of the dashi. Good, nice and slow. Now everything else goes in, we’re gonna let that heat up for a minute so it’s all evenly heated.” Sojiro holds a hand out to take the wooden spoon Yusuke was using to slowly move the curry around the pot, taking it and wiping some of the curry sauce off with a finger and popping it into his mouth. “Hmm. Not too bad. Not there yet, but it takes a bit of practice to get the timing right on how long to cook everything in the mentsuyu.” Yusuke nods, watching the final product bubble in the pot and thinking about the whole process one last time while Sojiro dishes out rice onto three plates.

  
Cooking the vegetables and chicken together after it’s been browned in a pan was expected, but using such an unusual liquid for it had not occurred to him; that much mentsuyu probably costs 500, no, 600 yen. Then again, a single plate of this is probably sold for that much, so it makes the money back in spades over the day, and continuing to build flavor over time at a low simmer during the day means that it only grows more flavorful, if you manage the heat properly. A curry uniquely suited to a restaurant that serves morning, afternoon and evening customers.

  
“Yusuke, you’re in the way.” Sojiro leans past him with a ladle, scooping up a heaping helping of the curry and dishing into one of the plates laid out across his arm. Stepping out of the way, he goes to Futaba’s booth and sits down across from her with a sigh, dusting flour from his black pants and leaving more in its place. When he sits down, Futaba snaps out of whatever she was doing, closes her laptop and takes a deep sniff of the fragrant air of the cafe.

  
“Mmm, done already?”

  
“It’s only been 25 minutes. Most of the work was cooking the chicken and vegetables.”

  
“Compared to instant curry, which takes like, what, 2 minutes on High?”

  
“As if what I make is at all comparable to instant meals from a convenience store.” Sojiro arrives with the plates, dishing one out to each of them and squeezing into the booth next to Yusuke with his own.

  
“Damn right. The boy’s a keeper, Futaba. Give him a few years of feeding you, and you might actually not be underweight.” Sojiro snickers when Futaba reacts immediately by blushing as brightly as her hair and looking affronted at him.

  
“Oh my god, Sojiro, shut uppppppppp.” She covers up her blush with a spoonful of curry, pointedly not looking at either of them while she eats. “…Man, this is terrible. What did you do to it?” Yusuke raises an eyebrow at her, taking his first bite. It’s…fine. Close to Sojiro’s, but not perfect yet. What is she playing at—is she simply that fussy?

  
“There’s nothing wrong with it, the boy just needs more practice.”

  
“There’s plenty wrong with it!” She keeps eating, but makes faces the entire time. Yusuke waits for her final outburst, a disgusted noise as she pushes the plate away from her—picked clean, despite her protests—and Sojiro takes it, along with his own.

  
“As if you would know good curry if it hit you in the face, the way you eat. Instant curry and ramen that only needs hot water to eat has addled your palate.” Futaba leaps up on the bench seat, standing up and pointing down at Yusuke.

  
“OKAY, FIRST OF ALL, THAT YOU WOULD SAY THAT TO ME OF ALL PEOPLE, I OUGHTA —” Futaba’s outburst is silenced by Sojiro’s return, clearing his throat next to her.

  
“Futaba. If there were any customers in here, I would be appalled.” She starts to raise a finger to point at him, but falters under his steely yet still fatherly gaze. He holds out a hand for Yusuke’s plate, who passes it to him in silence. “I’ll need more ingredients for tomorrow’s batch, so go with Yusuke around to the grocer.” She nods, and he steps out of the way for the both of them to get out of the booth. They head out the door, Yusuke nearly slamming into Futaba’s back when she comes to a halt just past the door and out of earshot of Sojiro inside.

  
“…Sorry.”

  
“For what?” She rounds on him, her hair flipping upwards and striking his face. Once his vision clears, she’s standing on the tips of her toes, grabbing his collar and pulling him down to her level.

  
“Are you kidding me? I was awful back there!”

  
“You were you, Futaba. I can take criticism, be it artistic or culinary.”

  
“Rrrgh, you don’t get it!” She gesticulates wildly with her other hand, releasing him and stepping back. “I was thinking about it the whole time you were cooking, but it’s messed up that Dad is trying to make you learn his recipe!”

  
“Messed up how, exactly? It’s a recipe, they are shared across families and generations.”

  
“Yeah, families! That’s his recipe! That’s the point! When I eat that, I think about him, and how much he loves me and loves making that curry! It makes me feel good, because it’s his!”

  
“Oh, so only Sojiro may make it? What about Akira?”

  
“He’s family too, now! You’re not family! …Wait, that sounds awful. Damn it!” She grabs her head, squatting down and curling up into a ball in the street, rocking gently on her heels. Yusuke crouches down next to her.

  
“I…think I understand—You don’t want me cooking that specific dish. I don’t understand the ‘why’.”

  
“It. God, it sounds so stupid in my head, it’s gonna sound worse out loud. I hate sounding like an idiot.” Her voice is muffled by how hard she’s burying her face into her knees.

  
“You know I dislike mincing words, Futaba.” She sighs, looking up from her knees and sniffing to hold back her stress-induced tears.

  
“It…it doesn’t taste right, because you made it, not Sojiro or Akira. It’s the family curry, it smells like it and it looks like it, but it doesn’t taste like family should.” Her head returns to her knees, groaning angrily at herself now that she’s said it.

  
“Ah. Hmm. That is a problem, then.”

  
“It’s stupid and it’s ridiculous and I know it is and that objectively it’s fine but—”

  
“Futaba. It’s fine. I understand now. You want the curry that tastes like Yusuke.” Her head snaps up, eyes wide open and staring right at him.

  
“YES! I want you to make your curry for me, not Dad’s! I guess? That still sounds weird and kind of stupid, but it also sounds right.” Yusuke stands up, humming to himself. Futaba does likewise, watching him curiously. “So, uhh. How do we break it to Dad now? Because telling him that will probably break his old man heart.”

  
“Let’s worry about that after we get back from shopping.” Yusuke starts walking up the street in the twilight towards the grocers.

  
“But what’s the point of making more of his curry if it won’t taste right?” Futaba jogs to catch up, colliding with him and grabbing one of his hands, squeezing it tightly. “We just gotta go talk to him!” Yusuke stops, turning back to Futaba and squeezing her hand in return.

  
“He still needs ingredients for tomorrow, regardless of if we stop or not. And I’ll need my own ingredients if I’m to make you my curry.” She freezes, blinking.

  
“Oh. Right. Got too caught up in the moment. Whoops.” She pulls her hand out of Yusuke’s grasp, putting them behind her back and smiling. “Well, go, do it! I’ll talk to Dad. Sojiro.” She slumps. “Had I been calling him Dad this whole time? Crap. I’m all flustered now, damn it!” Yusuke can’t help but smile watching her. Rather than dealing with the problem that is Yusuke showing her affection, Futaba turns and runs back into the store muttering to herself about how dumb everyone is.

* * *

“OK, I already told Futaba I’d let you cook your curry here, but…you’re really going to make a curry with all of this?” Sojiro is rifling through the bag Yusuke brought by the next day, pulling out a box of sun-dried raisins and rattling them. “Who puts raisins in curry?”

  
“I’ll have you know that traditional curries of the Indian subcontinent always include some form of fruit. And raisins are calorically dense, giving more weight to the curry so it keeps you fed for longer.” Yusuke huffs, brushing his hair out of his face and spreading the remainder of the ingredients across the bar. Raisins, carrots, red potatoes, a bottle of mentsuyu, a small bag of unsweetened coconut shavings, and a small tin of curry powder with Hindi and English script on the front, silhouetted by a blazing fire. Futaba’s watching, rapt, from the other side of the bar, leaning halfway over it to look at everything.

  
“So it’s gonna be really sweet? Like a dessert curry? I’d never even thought about that before, can you actually make a dessert curry? Melt some chocolate into the curry base, maybe some cream?” She whips out her phone, tapping furiously to search for an answer while Yusuke moves into the kitchen. Sojiro has the tin of curry powder in his hand, tilting his head.

  
“Curry Cayenne? Isn’t that a chili pepper? Yusuke?” Yusuke returns from the kitchen, plucking the tin from Sojiro’s hand.

  
“Yes. It provides a strong heat to the curry that is cut by the coconut, raisins and potatoes. It’s quite bracing, I find. I’m curious how the introduction of mentsuyu to the curry base in place of water will affect it.” He returns to the kitchen with the tin and Sojiro trailing after him, talking in a hushed whisper.

  
“Okay, but, Yusuke. Futaba doesn’t do well with spice. I seem to remember you not doing well either, when you had Akira’s version. Are you sure you want to do this?” Yusuke pauses, turning from the stove to look the older man dead in the eye.

  
“It’s fine. I’ve grown used to it’s kick, and Futaba asked for my curry, so I will give it to her. If she doesn’t enjoy it, I’ll deal with it then. The recipe takes all of these things into account.” Sojiro sighs, scratching his head.

  
“You’re as stubborn as her. No, more stubborn. But if you insist, I won’t stop you.” Yusuke nods, turning back towards the stove and lighting the burner.

* * *

“Okay, so, chocolate curry is probably not a good idea, I guess that’s normally made with water, but you could make a masala? That’s an indian dish that uses a cream base for it’s, uhh, curry stuff. You know, the liquid. It’d probably be gross with normal rice though, so maybe use mochi? You get a plain block of it and then I guess grate it it, so it acts like rice while you’re eating it? That sounds good, curry and chocolate and cream sauce on mochi rice. Ooh, add in some red bean paste to thicken it, maybe? I’m telling Ann about this, she’ll die thinking about it.” Once Futaba finishes sending a message to the group chat, she puts down her phone—which immediately starts buzzing—and leans to get a look into the kitchen. “You done yet?”

  
“Just another minute. Do you need a hand, kid?” Sojiro’s standing next to the stove looking worried, and pointedly leaning away from the steam billowing from the pot. Yusuke is intent upon his work, adding coconut flakes a shake at a time and stirring slowly until the bag is emptied. Futaba flops back into her seat with a huff, picking up her vibrating phone and grinning when she sees the pandemonium she’s unleashed on everyone; Ann is arguing with Ryuji about her calorie intake—namely how fat she’s going to get if she doesn’t start working out with him and Makoto again—and Haru just seems to be offering ideas for what could go in a dessert curry. Apparently she’s big on fresh-cut fruit.

  
“I’m quite fine here, thank you. Though, if you could find 3 plates…” He picks up the the large box of raisins, opening it with a tearing of cardboard, tapping one from the box into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Sojiro returns with the plates—helpfully already heaped with rice—as the raisins go in the pot and the packaging is unceremoniously discarded. “Thank you, Sak—Sojiro. Sorry.” Sojiro chuckles and waves a hand while Yusuke accepts them, dishing out a generous amount of curry onto each of them. Sojiro accepts one and walks to the bar, taking a seat further down from Futaba to give Yusuke room to sit next to her.

  
“Alright, dinner time. And—” He leans over to Futaba and whispers. “Just try to be nice, okay?”

  
“Yeah, yeah.” She pockets her phone when Yusuke sets down a plate in front of her and squeezes between the two of them with his own. “Alright, does it have a cool name? Yusuke’s Dynamite Curry, with Donkey Sauce?”

  
“It’s named Curry, Futaba, it’s far too late for me to lay any claim to the dish that has existed for decades.”

  
“No, I mean—ugh, nevermind.” She picks up her spoon, leaning into the cloud of steam wafting from it and taking a deep sniff. “Ooh, spicy. Well, time to dig in!” Futaba picks up her spoon, but looks to Yusuke, to watch his reaction.

  
“If it’s too hot for you, bite into one of the raisins.” Yusuke has already taken a bite, and nods slightly to himself. “The addition of the mentsuyu adds a complexity to it’s flavor I’d scarcely imagined, Sojiro. Thank you for enlightening me, even if it is prohibitively expensive to use in a single batch of curry.” Futaba leans back in her chair, watching Sojiro eat.

  
“Prohibit—Yusuke, a bottle costs 500 yen.” Sojiro takes his own first bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Hmm. The coconut and the raisins do a lot more to cut the spice than I expected. It’ll clear your sinuses, that’s for sure, though.” He sees her watching him, and jabs his head towards her plate and mouths ‘EAT’.

  
Futaba returns to facing her dish, chewing on her lip. Finally, she breaks, exhaling and taking a deep breath to steel herself before shoving a spoonful of curry in her mouth. Yusuke watches out of the corner of his eye as her expression twists from disgust, to confusion, to surprise, to blank by the time she swallows.

  
“Huh. It’s not that spicy. Not even as spicy as Akira makes it, even. Didn’t you put some crazy super-pepper in it?” She keeps eating while Yusuke wipes his mouth with the bottom of his apron.

  
“Just a normal pepper, dried and powdered into the curry spice. It’s much milder than the real thing, of course, but it provides the right amount of kick to counterbalance the raisins. When I eat this, I can go without food for well over 2 days.”

  
Sojiro groans. “Please don’t say things like that in front of me, or I’m going to worry about you.” Futaba brushes it off, laughing.

  
“Man, this is some kind of super-curry. And it’s got a really unique flavor. Kind of stubborn, like, ‘I want raisins in this curry and I’ll do anything to make it work’ stubborn. It’s very Yusuke.”

  
“That’s actually quite true. Before Akira reminded me that a curry could be truly spicy, my curry recipe was quite mild, far more than even the children’s curries you often see. I was committed to saving as many yen as I could by cutting ingredients that don’t directly contribute to it’s caloric count. It did turn out quite efficient per serving, but the flavor suffered terribly. But now, money is no object.”

  
“Yeah, really splurged with whatever is in here, right?” Futaba cackles. “How much did it all cost? I bet it was less a thousand. Hey, Sojiro, how much do you think he spent?”

  
“850 and not a yen higher.” Sojiro is enjoying the curry as well, despite his trepidation about the spice before.

  
“I don’t see the point of this discussion.”

  
“C’mon, what’s it hurt? You know how much you spent, just tell us!” Sojiro shakes his head.

  
“She’s not going to give up until you tell her, Yusuke.”

  
“I’m well aware. If you must know, it was 1100 yen. I just missed a sale on raisins, and they cost me 150 more yen than they would if I had remembered and gone to a different establishment.”

  
“Hah! I was closest!” Futaba wiggles in her seat and hums to herself while Sojiro laughs, returning to cleaning up the last bits of his plate. Her celebration continues as she eats, humming replaced by joyful noises whenever she takes a bite. “It’s really good, though. I bet Sojiro could sell this right next to his and make a killing.”

  
“Ehh, no. Two pots of curry is one pot too many at the end of the day, believe me. One curry, one cup of coffee of whatever flavor they want, that’s what they get for that meal. I’m not hiring somebody just to watch the pots when I can do it just as well myself if I don’t expand the menu.”

  
“Awww…”

  
“I had not planned to sell my recipe, in any case.” Yusuke finishes his plate, and Sojiro stands, taking both of theirs into the kitchen.

  
“Awww! You’re no fun. We already make a killing on Phantom Thief merch, a little bit of extra earnings never—”

  
“WHAT did I just hear about you selling Phantom Thieves merchandise?” Futaba flinches, scrambling out of her chair and grabbing Yusuke’s hand, pulling him violently towards the door while Sojiro leans out of the kitchen with fire in his eyes.

  
“NOTHING! I GOTTA GO, YUSUKE’S GONNA, UHH, HELP ME STUDY FOR A TEST! THAT I FORGOT WAS TOMORROW! WE’LL BE LOCKED IN MY ROOM ALL NIGHT AND YOU CAN’T BOTHER US OR I’LL FAIL AND WASTE ALL YOUR MONEY YOU SPENT ON TUITION!” Her voice grows increasingly distant as she drags Yusuke out of the shop and into the street. Sojiro shakes his head, sighing.

  
“That girl.” He walks to the bar, picking up her plate and dropping it in the sink. “I guess I need to keep raisins and coconut around here for them now.”


End file.
